Dancing in the rain

Healing isn’t linear. It is uncomfortable and painful, but it is also kind of beautiful. It is a balance between joy and grief.

These past few weeks have been some of the most challenging, frustrating, yet clarifying and joyous weeks of my life. Now, if you think that’s a huge contradiction, yes, I’m perfectly aware that it is. But I can’t think of a better way to describe it — between joy and grief.

See, about two and a half months ago, covid finally caught up with me. After I had managed to avoid it for the past two and a half years. And partly because of the now limited news coverage, I just didn’t think I would catch it anymore. Though that’s beside the point. It could not have come at a more inconvenient time; I had just gotten out of a depressive episode and was ready to start working hard to glue myself back together again. I had written down a big goal for myself, broken up into smaller parts. Which I thought would be achievable and keep me busy during the coming months. And then, it all fell apart.

The first week in and of itself wasn’t that bad. Sure, I hated the headaches, fever and back pain. But that was sort of manageable, especially because I knew there’d be an end to it. The aftermath however, not so much. When I started feeling better, I naturally started doing normal things again. But that really backfired on me. My symptoms came back in full force (mostly a sore throat, exhaustion and shortness of breath) and didn’t start to improve until two weeks afterwards.

But the most frustrating part is that my symptoms are still not fully gone. Covid completely wiped me out. I’m still dealing with relentless fatigue, brain fog and shortness of breath after light exercise. So much so that it keeps me from being able to work and as such, unsure of whether or not I’ll be able to go on a long distance hike next year. I am improving little by little, which gives me hope. But it is hard not to despair, especially on days where I am so tired that I can only sleep.

A blessing in disguise

Then again, because I don’t do well with change that isn’t of my own volition and didn’t want to fall back into the darkness, I knew I had to find some ways to lift my spirits. This’ll probably sound really odd, but I think getting (long) covid is one of the best things that has happened to me this year. Not because I enjoy being sick, or because like what physical condition it has put me in. No, I absolutely despise that part, so that’s definitely not it. More so because it has forced me to take a step back and take a drastic look at what things actually make me happy, besides hiking. And which of those things require such little energy that I am able to do them. I’m slowly starting to learn to take my frustration and put it towards realising small, achievable goals.

I figured that letting my creativity flourish was one of the things that really helped me. I rediscovered my love of writing and took a lot of pleasure in taking and editing photographs. Unfortunately on some days even that is barely achievable because I’m too tired to go out to take the photos. Or my brain is so foggy that I cannot form a coherent sentence. For example: it has taken me weeks to write this post. Because even though I knew what I wanted to say, I could not put the words together. (I’m actually still a little unsure if this is it exactly, but I gotta start somewhere, right?)

So I started crocheting again. I actually picked it back up about half a year into the pandemic (after about ten years of not having done it), and quickly dropped it when crocheting hat after hat became too tedious. Though this time, I set a new challenge for myself and went in with a clear goal: finish a cardigan. And within a week, I had done it. Right now I’m in the process of finishing a sweater; which has taken me a little longer because I’m slowly starting to do other things as well. But it has overall been a very healing experience.

Of course hiking and crocheting are two very different things, but I also think they’re both very mindful exercises. Continuously putting one foot in front of the other and shoving a hook through a loop aren’t so different in that regard. It is a huge relief that I can gain just as much satisfaction from finishing a project as I get from walking a hundred kilometres. Because it makes me wonder what else I can do.

It isn’t about that one specific activity. But rather about finding and doing things that bring me joy, regardless of how small or insignificant they may seem. To make sure I make time for things that are important to me. To have my own well-being as my number one priority.

Between joy and grief

For years I thought that hiking was the only thing that could bring me some peace and clarity. And I understand why, because being in nature and exercising are both very healing. But I’m happy to be wrong about that (to some extent, at least). Again and again, I was desperate to get away and relive the experience I had on the Camino in 2019. Only to realise that that is an unrealistic expectation. It’s in the past and I need to learn to let it go. Besides, the things I needed then aren’t what I need now.

It’s more important to focus on the present and be open to new experiences that’ll get me to the next step. Instead of focussing on reliving something from the past, whether that be here or there. I think that’s what made it difficult to truly enjoy the experiences I had on the shorter hikes I went on during the past two years. I think I forced it too much and therefore found it less enjoyable — because of those unrealistic expectations.

This summer, I set out to ‘complete’ the french part of my camino. The part I skipped due to an injury. After just two weeks, or about 200 kilometres, I realised that it was not to be. And although there is still a part of me that wants to finish it, I also think I have to be realistic. Now is just not the right time, because I can’t clearly separate those two journeys in my head. I already finished my pilgrimage and that was good. So now I need to take an honest look at why I want to do this. And as long as I can’t give a clear answer to that question, I won’t go back. Finally making it past Ervy-le-Chatel, past Vézelay and to Nevers, is good enough for now.

I think that might be part of the reason I spiralled when I got home. I had to take a moment to grieve that which I had lost, to truly be able to appreciate the memory for what it is. Especially if I want to be able to fully focus on any future hikes. Without trying to make them into something that they are not and will never be. Does that make any sense?

It’s gonna be alright

I think there’s a stark difference as to where I am now, compared to where I was at the start of the pandemic. Of course I am older and have learned a lot about myself during the past three years. But that’s not what I mean.

At the beginning of the pandemic I felt lost and hopeless. In part of course because I was so desperate to go on another hike, which didn’t seem possible at the time. I’m not going to go into the logistics of whether or not I technically could’ve done so. Because I acted according to the information I had at the time, which was that traveling was not advised. I think I was mostly distraught because of all the uncertainties, which made it difficult to focus on the bigger picture.

And now, a few years later, I have gone through a transformation. I might not have accomplished much in terms of what I have to show for it, but I have made huge steps in my healing journey. Which I secretly think is much more important.
It would’ve been very easy to give in to despair because I have to somewhat put my life on hold, yet again. But even though there are so many uncertainties when it comes to the larger goals right now, I’m not going to let that stop me. I’m focussed on doing things that make me happy and am not afraid to dream of what may come.

Because I’ve realised that the bigger picture is not about those visible accomplishments. It’s rather about enjoying all of what I do. Right here, right now. The fact that I’m sort of happy instead of back in that dark place, not feeling like I’ve failed throughout these last few years, makes me hopeful for other times when things don’t go as planned. I am no longer the sad fifteen year old who didn’t know if they were gonna be able to live to see tomorrow. I’m twenty one and I’m thriving despite all the hardships. For me, the most important thing is that I am here and I get to take control. Because it shows how far I’ve come.

My way

I’ve stopped focussing on where I am compared to my peers because it doesn’t say anything about me. Other than that I am okay with nonconformity. It’s me against me. I’m not ahead or behind, because this is my life and it is not set in stone how I’ll end up filling it. I have decided to make this time all about figuring out ways that work for me, because I’ve realised how important it is to put your own well-being first. So I’m all about finding ways to support myself in doing so. I think I deserve that. Perhaps I even owe it to myself after the things I put me through because of unhealthy coping mechanisms.

Of course I could wish things had gone differently, but it’s not like I can change anything anymore. So instead of wishing for some nonexistent scenario, I’m going to revel in this. I’m no longer going to try to conform to a system that has made it perfectly clear that it isn’t going to accommodate me. I’m just going in without a plan and see where it leads me.

If I’m gonna put pressure on myself, saying that I have to have a deadline for when it all has to be better, it just isn’t going to work. Because overworking myself to the point I’m right back at square one just isn’t an option. If there’s one thing physical therapy has taught me, it is not to exceed my limits. Which is easier said than done, of course, but I try anyway. I’m just taking things one step — or day — at a time.

As for now, hiking remains the number one thing that I want to do. So that’s what I’ll be focussing on once I’ve recovered enough to be able to go on another adventure. To the point where I’ve glued myself together enough that I might feel comfortable taking on other, more challenging adventures. Such as possibly going to uni, if that’s what I end up deciding I want to do. Perhaps. We’ll just have to wait and see.

But in the meantime, I’m no longer allowing the dark skies to cloud my entire day. No. The darkness can no longer swallow all the light because I can finally see the stars. And I know that the sun will rise again. I think all of that is worth so much more than the thought of what could’ve been. So instead of wallowing in self pity, I am learning to dance in the rain.